I cannot explain beyond that. I cannot think he will welcome a French émigré for his granddaughter. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. ’ Reminiscence made him smile. Could you pull over? She asked. We’ll go. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us. He often wanted only to drive with her in the car, both of them staring at the scenery in silence for hours. That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings. ‘The secret passage!’ It did not take long to find the mechanism of the candlesconce that opened the door.
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